The Horn That Was Blowing
by Xanadu-King
Summary: The Fellowship is broken, dear friends now lay with the dead. However hope remains, although it is as fragile as a new flower in spring. The slightest thing could destroy any shred of hope that yet lives. Continue the journey with our favourite party of travelers in the next installment of my Lord of the Rings and Troy crossover.


_**Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity. So we ask ourselves: will our actions echo across the centuries? Will strangers hear our names long after we are gone, and wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved?**_

 **Chapter One**

"The trees are strong my lord. Their roots grow deep." The voice of the distorted creature echoed plainly underneath the constant patter of rain.

"Rip them all down." A voice bellowed harshly as an old man in white stood back, admiring the work. He watched as the ropes were tied around the branches, the roots of the trees straining to keep them grounded. Each tree groaned as it was torn, unceremoniously, from the soft earth. For every tree pulled from the earth there was a cheer from the dark workers. The black and gray creatures hacked at the branches of the trees, each ax tearing out chunks of wood with every swing. Paris' eyes slid open as he laid there, the image seared into his mind. For a while he simply remained motionless, feeling the steady flow of air into his lungs and the rhythmic beating of his heart, only to be slightly disrupted by Helen's arm upon his chest.

"What was that?" Paris' whisper was barely audible so as to not disturb Helen. The former prince of Troy sat up, allowing Helen's arm to softly slide off of him. It was still hard for him to believe that Troy had burnt to the ground nearly two years ago. Paris turned his head to see the beautiful woman sleeping to his left. A soft half smile appeared on his face as he gazed at the peaceful expression. Paris could never explain to her how happy he was to have her with him. Leaning over, he placed his lips upon her cheek and kissed it softly. Paris stood up from the bed, donned his night cloak, and slipped out to speak with his brothers.

Fifteen minutes later Paris, along with Hector and Aeneas, sat in what was to become the council room. Aeneas sighed heavily as he rubbed his eyes.

"Tell me again why we are up at such dreadful hours?" Aeneas never enjoyed being woken up, for any reason.

"We are up because Paris had dire news that could not wait. Tell me brother, what is this 'dire' news of which you speak?" Hector rested his elbows upon the small wooden table, hardly masking his own annoyance to being woken up.

"I know that it was intrusive of me to wake you, but something about what I have seen makes me concerned. I cannot truly express in words what I saw. Grey skinned beasts ripping trees from the earth. They were taking orders from someone, a man with long white hair who wore white robes. That was it, which was all I saw before awakening." Paris searched his brother's faces for any sign of understanding. In Hector's eyes he saw none, Aeneas, however, stared intently at the table.

Hector stood up and placed his hand upon Paris' shoulder. "I think it might have just been a dream. We know creatures of their like do not exist. Return to bed brother." Hector smiled and turned to go. As he reached the door Aeneas spoke up.

"Wait." Aeneas called out, causing Hector to pause momentarily at the door. "What if it is not just a dream, what if what he saw was actually a vision?"

Hector cocked his head and looked at Aeneas as though he were crazed. "A vision? I have always been a believer in the gods; however I have never known the gods to directly interfere with men's lives. What would compel you to think this was a vision?"

Aeneas' brow furrowed as he recalled his past. "Do you remember the old tales? The ones father used to tell us?"

Hector, and Paris, gave Aeneas a puzzled look, as Hector spoke for the both of them. "No, father rarely ever told us stories."

"Well I do remember." Aeneas stated coolly. "Whenever I could not fall asleep he would tell me fanciful tales of lands far away. In these lands lived creatures unlike any man has ever seen. Beings with power enough to move mountains, like the ancient heroes of old."

Paris let out a soft sigh. "That has nothing to do with my dream."

"Are you sure brother? Do you remember anything else from your dream?" Aeneas leaned in a little closer.

Paris nodded his head. "Yes, I do remember something else. There was a tower, a tower that appeared to be made of black stone."

"Tell me brother what did the tower look like?" Aeneas had become more excited upon hearing of the tower and slid even closer to his brother in expectation.

"I- I am not sure, it was dark and raining. But I think it had four spires at the top of it." Paris clenched his eyes shut as he attempted to recall his dream. "Yes, spires, and it seemed to dwarf even the mountains around it. It was surrounded by a high wall that was perfectly round."

"It _is_ the tower!" Aeneas' shout startled both Paris and Hector. Aeneas practically launched himself up from his chair and ran over to the map chest. After rummaging around for a minute, Aeneas pulled out the old leather map he had stolen from the people of Umbar. Unrolling it, he laid it out on the table for his brothers to see.

"Look, there." Aeneas pointed to a location on the map further north from their current location. It appeared to be a large tower with four spires protruding out of each side and a circular wall. "Is this not what you saw?"

"Yes, it does look familiar. However we have seen this map before. What if I am only remembering seeing it on the map?" Paris had doubted much since the burning of Troy, only three things remained constant for him. First was his love for Helen, second, his desire to protect his people, and third, his trust in his brothers. The latter of which was being put under severe strain at this point.

"Because, in one of fathers stories he told me of a tower, just like this one, where a noble and wise man, named Saruman, ruled. I believe that the old man you saw was this Saruman." Aeneas beamed gleefully.

"Alright brother, say we believe you. Say we believed that Paris' dream was more than that. What then, where do go from there?" Hector strolled casually back over to the table having become more interested as evidence continued to pile up that Paris' dream was in fact a vision.

"Our next step would be to travel north and talk with this Saruman. Perhaps he can give us insight to our brother's vision." Aeneas glanced hopefully at his brother's faces. He would never admit it but he relished in the chance to go explore the world of his childhood dreams. If he could only see the fabled white city, if he could only meet the mighty horse lords. Aeneas had become so lost in thought that he did not notice his brother's attempt to gather his attention.

"Aeneas!" Paris barked.

Aeneas snapped back to the reality of the situation. "Yes? My apologies brother, I was lost in thought."

Both Paris and Hector smiled. "We could tell." They spoke in unison.

"Aeneas, we have decided to follow your council. Let us travel to the north and discover the source of my vision." Paris gazed happily at his brother knowing full well how thrilled Aeneas would be to take this adventure.

"Truly brother?" Aeneas could hardly contain himself.

"Truly, in the morning we will pack and head out. I will leave information for the council until our return. Until then let us return to bed." Hector smiled casually at his brother and nodded. With those words Paris and Aeneas nodded and returned to their bed chambers for the night. Hector yet lingered a while longer, turning his gaze to the star filled sky outside.

"What do you have in store for us now?" He whispered to the heavens before turning to go.

Ninniachel kept watch, her head resting upon a raised knee, while the other three in the company slept beneath their elfish cloaks. She watched Frodo's eyes dart back and forth behind his calm façade. She was so lost in thought that she failed to notice Patroclus had stood up from his bedroll and walked over to her.

"My turn to keep watch." Patroclus spoke as he placed his hand upon her shoulder. Ninniachel looked up at him with a weary, and slightly startled, gaze.

"Has it been that long already?" Ninniachel's attention returned to Frodo. She watched as the little hobbit's eyes flicked around behind his eyelids. Within his imagination, the fires raged once more.

 _"You cannot pass! I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass, the dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!"_ Frodo listened intently as the voice rang out. To his shock, he heard his own voice shout out in the darkness.

" _Gandalf!"_ Frodo's disjointed voice cried out. All at once the darkness vanished and was replaced by the cavernous abyss beneath the bridge of Khazad-dûm. There, upon that old bridge, within that wretched place, stood Gandalf, staring down the demon of fire and shadow; the Balrog of Morgoth.

" _Go back to the shadow. You shall not pass!"_ Gandalf's voice rang out, as he slammed his staff down, in a powerful echo that resounded across all of Moria. Frodo watched from above, he had seen this before; no less terrifying then when it first happened. However now he could only watch like a fly observing the world around him. The great beast took its preordained step forward only to have the bridge give way and collapse into the endless abyss. Yet its demise would not come without sacrifice, as Gandalf turned, the fiery whip of the Balrog flung forth, wrapping itself around Gandalf's legs dragging him over the edge.

" _Gandalf!"_ Frodo's disjointed voice cried out once more as his memory double attempted to break free from Boromir's grasp. The Grey wizard clung, vainly, to the edge of the shattered bridge.

" _Fly you fools."_ Unable to take the strain, Gandalf's fingers gave way and he slipped into the dark chasm. To Frodo's surprise his vision followed Gandalf on his decent into the abyss. As Gandalf fell, he clasped his free falling sword. Not more than one hundred paces in front of him was Durin's Bane, the ultimate foe from a bygone era. With what magic he could muster, Gandalf flung himself forward and plunged his sword into the Balrog's neck. The great beast roared in pain as it whirled around slamming its hand into Gandalf's torso. The two Maiar fought valiantly as they plummeted further into the shadows. Reaching out, Gandalf clasped one of the great beast's horns and pulled himself onto its chest. While sitting upon the Balrog's chest he hacked away with all his might, causing massive gashes to appear on its chest. As retribution for causing it such pain, the Balrog reached out, grabbed Gandalf, and began to crush him in its burning grip. Gandalf could feel his bones begin to give way under the intense strain. In an attempt to escape, Gandalf stabbed Glamdring into the Balrog's thumb, piercing all the way through. Durin's Bane roared in agony and released Gandalf. The mighty creatures of the Valar battled as the jagged cliff walls whizzed past them. The two Maiar had become so engrossed in their duel that they failed to notice the fast approaching water of an underground lake. The fire of the Balrog reflected beautifully off the pristine surface of the lake as the Maiar raced ever closer to it. Their collision with the icy waters sent up billowing plumes of steam and mist, the flames of the Balrog boiling the cold water. As the two impacted the lake, Frodo's eyes shot open.

"Gandalf!" The Hobbit shouted as he bolted up from his knapsack. Frodo's sudden outburst startled his three companions. Sam, awakened by Frodo's shout, placed a comforting hand upon Frodo's shoulder.

"What is it Mr. Frodo?" Sam spoke in the most soothing tone he could muster in his hazy state.

"Nothing, it was just a dream." With those words Sam nodded groggily and fell back into a deep sleep. Frodo slowly laid his head back on his knapsack, and drifted back into a restless sleep, as a single tear fell from his eye.

Ninniachel looked up at a concerned Patroclus, his gaze focused intently upon Frodo. "Well I suppose it is your turn." Ninniachel spoke softly as she rose from her sitting position. Heading towards her own knapsack, Ninniachel looked back to the young Greek man. _Watch over him_ Ninniachel silently pleaded with Patroclus, who nodded in understanding. While the rest of the company slept Patroclus remained vigilant, the bitter chill of Emyn Muil in the early morning kept him wide awake. While watching the company a rock fell from the cliff above only to land near Patroclus' feet. Hearing the rock fall, Patroclus wheeled around and scanned the side of the mountain for any sign of movement, after a few minutes of not seeing anything he turned back to the group. "Likely just a loose stone." Patroclus whispered to himself.

The hours dragged on slowly, as he watched the sun rise from its hidden domain behind the mountains. After what he gathered was a few hours, he wandered over to the other three members and tapped each of them lightly.

"Time to rise, we need to get moving if we are to use the fullest extent of days light." He spoke softly but affirmatively. Within the hour each one of the companions had packed their bags and were ready to move out. The gloom of Emyn Muil seemed to put everyone in a somber mood, as such, travel continued at a steady pace with little to no conversation. That was until they reached a rather steep cliff.

"So how does the ring bearer wish to proceed?" Patroclus stated calmly. Frodo looked around for a moment, hoping to find an easy way down, something that seemed impossible. He gave Sam a sad stare, in an attempt to convey his lack of an answer. Sam understood this and put down his bag.

"I have something, I think. Lady Galadriel gave it to me back in Lothlorien. Let me just- now where- ah there- come on, get out of there." Sam ceased talking to anyone in particular as he rummaged around inside his bag. After a few moments of struggling he pulled a very thin rope out of his backpack. "She told me that this might come in handy, I guess she was right." Sam smiled broadly at Frodo who, in kind, smiled at Ninniachel and Patroclus.

"Well then Master Samwise, care to do us the honors of securing the rope?" Ninniachel smiled softly at the little hobbit. Sam blushed slightly and hurriedly turned around to work on the task at hand. Patroclus chuckled lightly and looked at Ninniachel. She returned his gaze and gave him a small wink, her smile never fading. After a couple minutes of work Sam stood up and nodded.

"That should do it. One of Samwise Gamgee's signature knots. It will not be coming loose any time soon." Sam smiled proudly at his handy work.

"Alright then, I will go first, followed by Frodo, then Sam. Ninniachel, would you mind coming down last." Patroclus looked at everyone hoping to find that they were all in agreement. To his surprise no one argued with his judgment. "Alright then, let's go." Patroclus stated in an almost gleeful tone. In his mind the road could not be much further until they left Emyn Muil. As the party began their decent Patroclus was pleased to find that the rope, which appeared so thin, was in fact, quite sturdy and could easily hold his weight, along with the other three. The party descended the rope as fast as feet and hands would allow.

After about three minutes of climbing Sam spoke up. "Do you think we are close to the bottom?" As he spoke he began to turn around.

"No Sam, don't look down!" Frodo called back. In his haste to comply with Frodo's request a small wooden box fell out of his bag. Sam noticed this and nearly screamed as he watched it fall.

"Catch it!" He cried. Frodo reached his hand out and caught the falling box, keeping it from the fog filled depths below. Sam let out a soft sigh, only to be replaced with a sharp inhale as Frodo lost his footing and began to fall. Frodo could see it happening, it was surreal. He watched as the wall and rope moved away from him and started to become smaller. Just as he was about to resign himself to his fate a strong hand grabbed him by the backpack.

"I've got you Frodo. Don't worry." Patroclus let out a slightly strained huff as he attempted to hold up himself and Frodo. While Patroclus held Frodo, a faint glimmer appeared in his eye. The cloud covered light of the sun reflected off the little golden ring like a fire. The ring seemed to echo itself in Patroclus' eyes. For a moment Frodo let himself feel fear towards Patroclus. Patroclus saw this and spoke in the most soothing tone he could. "Frodo, do you trust me?"

He did trust Patroclus, but how much did he trust him? "Because I am going to let you go." Patroclus stated flatly as he began to loosen his grip. Frodo's eyes went wide with fear.

"What are you doing?" Sam yelled at Patroclus with all his might.

"Don't worry Frodo, you will be fine." Patroclus looked him in the eye as he spoke, reassuring Frodo of his safety. Still unsure of how truly safe he was, Frodo nodded slowly, choosing to believe Patroclus for now.

"It is alright Sam, I will be okay." Frodo spoke softly as to not concern Sam any more. Sam however could not hide the fear in his eyes. With horror he looked on as Patroclus let Frodo go, and watched him disappear into the fog below.

"Frodo!" Sam cried out. The man who said he was there to protect them had just let Frodo plummet to his death. Sam was so distraught that he didn't notice a voice calling him. The voice called out a second time.

"Sam, I am okay." Sam opened his eyes and noticed that the voice was Frodo's.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam called into the mist.

"It is alright, you are near the bottom." Sam let out a small sigh of relief hearing his friend's voice. While he waited for the rest of his companions to finish the climb down, Frodo began surveying his surroundings. Much to his annoyance he couldn't see anything beyond the thick layer of fog yet to be pierced by the sun's light.

A couple of minutes later Patroclus, Sam, and Ninniachel stood beside him. Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo upon reaching the bottom. "Oh, don't scare me like that. Also, thank you Mr. Frodo, for catching the box." Sam said as he took the box out of Frodo's hands.

"What is in there?" Frodo questioned, more out of curiosity than interest, as to what could be so important to his friend.

"It was a gift, from Lady Giladriel. She gave me dirt, and a single seed of a Mallorin tree. I am saving it for when we get back to the Shire." Sam looked at the box for any signs of damage. Relief set in when he could see none. Frodo smiled sadly at Sam, something about their journey so far had caused doubt about their return to set in.

"Well, let's not stick around here too long. I would like to get out of this horrible labyrinth as soon as possible." Patroclus turned and started walking south down the mountain side.

"What about the rope? We can't just leave it for someone to follow." Sam called out to Patroclus, who seemed to not notice. Ninniachel placed her hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Try giving it a little tug." She spoke softly and turned to go, falling in closely behind Patroclus. Sam simply shrugged and gave it a small tug, which, to his surprise, caused the rope to untie itself and fall to the ground.

"Real elvish rope." Frodo smiled and turned to go, leaving Sam to stare at the rope in awe.


End file.
